Chapter 10
Asimo got me some more tiles. A lot more. Some are old and broke and some are new and smooth and they're all different shades of blue, but I like them all the same. She's given me a board too, to put them on. Now, instead of just laying around, I can pass the days and nights by rearranging the tiles into different patterns of blue. I glued a number of them to a smaller panel as a gift for Temari. I thought she was going to burst into tears when I gave it to her. I wish I knew why, though. She just said it was lovely.
I'm not sure why I've gotten into the habit of being artistic with the tiles, but I think it has something to do with the book Temari has been reading me, "The Last Leaf." It is a wonderful book. Today's entry is still clear in my mind.
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.
Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."
"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."
It's a very good book, I have to admit. But then, I haven't read that many books in my lifetime, either. Or, rather, had many books read to me. Temari was right when she said it was a story I could relate to, "kind of." Though, unlike Johnsy, I'm going to get better and not wallow in misery. Though I can't shake off the feeling that the doctors aren't telling me something…
"Chi, chi, chi, chi, chi!"
I look up, started and confused at the noise reaching my ears.
"Chi, chi, chi, chi, chi!"
So familiar… I look over at the window and my eyes widen.
"Chi, chi, chi, chi, chi!"
It's a bird. A pretty little sparrow, singing. Fascinated, I set my tiles aside and get up, my legs unsteady, and walk over to the windowsill. I hold my hands up against the glass, staring out at the tiny bird. How could something so small make such a brilliant, amazing sound?
"Chi, chi, chi, chi, chi!"
Its song is beautiful, so full of life and joy. I pry my fingers under the window and pull it up with what little strength I posses. But, startled at the movement, the sparrow flies away hurriedly, soon vanishing from my sight. I stick my face out into the open, scorching air, but the bird is long gone.
I frown as the incident makes me think of death. Was life just as fleeting as that sparrow was life just as small and beautiful and precious and able to suddenly vanish at one incorrect movement?
I press my lips together and scratch my arm, the sand chafing my sensitive skin. I close the window and go back to my tiles, casting a glance back at the window.
End Chapter 10